


(You've Got A) Semi-Automatic Mouth

by LynnLarsh



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, First Kiss, Kinda, Lance acts like an asshole, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Way too much fluff for 11k words, lots of sass, pidge is a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: “Just because you’re protected by the First Amendment doesn’t mean you’re protected from my fist to your face.”As if the situation could get any more aggravating, Lance’s smirk only grows, stretching into a teasing grin.  “Not saying I’m not into that,” he practically purrs, Katie’s heart skipping without her consent.  “But your foreplay needs a little work.”Aka - the College Plance Competitive Journalism AU that literally no one asked for.  Except me.  So I wrote it.  Cuz like, be the content you wanna see in this world, am I right, folks?





	(You've Got A) Semi-Automatic Mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kali_asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/gifts), [rhapsodyinpink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhapsodyinpink/gifts).



> This fic is thanks in large part to Kali_Asleep, for being my love, my inspiration, and more often than not, my motivation when times get tough. It's also thanks to the song Loud(y) by Lewis Del Mar, so listen to dat shite. I also just really wanted to try my hand at some Plance (or Pidgance?) content. So. Yeah. Hope you guys like it!
> 
> And just a quick PSA, I don't have the world's greatest understanding of Greek life, so if I got anything blatantly wrong, let me know. I myself was in Sigma Alpha Iota, but we had no house and it technically qualified as a Women's Fraternity, so most of my knowledge comes from friends in actual sororities and frats on Greek Row.
> 
> Now, without further ado, Kali_Asleep and Rhapsodyinpink, this one's for you.

“Alright. I’m going to need you to promise me that you won’t freak out.”

Katie raises an eyebrow at Allura’s tone, though she does nothing to stop the steady stream of information she types into her current word doc. This article is a big one, and if she wants to get it into tonight’s run, she’s going to have to have it finished in a matter of hours. Minimum.

“Too busy to freak out,” she offers, pulling open a few tabs for research as she adjusts the header on the article.

“If only that were true,” Allura sighs, the exasperation in her voice only half put upon. A second later, a newspaper falls with a rustled flop onto Katie’s desk, just missing her computer. Katie barely glances at it, already only paying half attention to the conversation at best. Allura clears her throat. “The Paladin just put out an early edition with some… rather frustrating content.”

Scratch that. Make it one hundred percent of her attention.

“Lance did _what_?” Katie balks, reaching over to snatch the paper from her desk and ripping it open with enough force to tear a few centimeters of the centerfold. It only takes her a couple of aggravating seconds to find. “That’s…” She hisses out through clenched teeth. “That’s my article.” 

“Technically, it’s Lance’s,” Allura sighs, unhelpful. “He’s taken a different spin on it-”

“The _wrong_ one.”

“-used different sources-”

“They’re both from Kappa Tau! It’s like interviewing the same fucking person!” 

“He even sited you as inspiration for-”

“That piece of _shit_!” Katie is practically seething, not even seeing the words anymore. Not that they’re worth seeing; everything Lance writes is a slap in the face to real and proper journalism. It’s not until Allura places a hand over Katie’s trembling fist that she realizes just how hard she’s been clutching the paper. Quickly, as if burned, Katie throws the blasphemous excuse for investigative literature back onto her desk.

“Now Katie,” Allura starts to say, a familiar lecture on her lips, but Katie is already grabbing her things and shoving them into her bag. She’s not letting him get away with this. Not after the last piece of trite he tried to pawn off on the campus news outlets. A detailed, school wide survey on the legitimacy of drunken gossip as a viable news source? It’s like he’s laughing at her.

And that shit just won’t goddamn fly.

Before she storms out of the office, she grabs Lance’s pitiful excuse for a newspaper and rolls it up, gripping it hard. And she’s still gripping it when she forces her way into his club room, multiple people scurrying out of her way as she B-lines for his desk. He’s leaning back in his chair, tossing a bright blue tennis ball in the air, no sign of any working to be had.

“What the fuck is this?” She hisses as she slaps the paper down in front of him. As if expecting her presence, Lance barely glances at it, continuing to keep his focus pinned on the up and down of his tennis ball.

“It’s kinda hard to tell when it’s all crumpled like that, but I’m pretty sure that’s my newspaper.”

“Gossip Mag at best,” Katie hisses, but Lance just shrugs, smirk persisting.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

With a frustratingly precise flick of his wrist, Lance chucks the ball just past her head. It bounces off the armchair in the corner, ricochets into the wall, and then lands with a soft thunk into a bucket of multicolored tennis balls by the door.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your infuriated company?” he asks, finally leaning forward to sit in his chair properly, elbows resting on the desk in a way that screams nonchalance. The bastard.

“That was _my_ article,” Katie seethes, trying desperately not to stomp right up into his personal space. She’s a professional, after all. 

“I didn’t see your name on it,” he says in a mocking tone. “I saw _mine_.”

Well then. Screw professionalism.

“Just because you’re protected by the First Amendment doesn’t mean you’re protected from my fist to your face.”

As if the situation could get any more aggravating, Lance’s smirk only grows, stretching into a teasing grin. “Not saying I’m not into that,” he practically purrs, Katie’s heart skipping without her consent. “But your foreplay needs a little work.”

Somehow, Katie manages to bristle and blush simultaneously. Curse her pale complexion and its inability to recognize really, really poor timing. And when Lance’s eyes dip low, practically sparkling in mirth as they recapture hers, that damned blush only grows. Goddamn it. 

“Fuck you,” Katie growls, snatching the crumpled up copy of The Paladin off of Lance’s desk.

“Maybe not on the first date, but okay,” Lance replies, literally waggling his eyebrows like the fuckboi he is. Which is why it’s even more humiliating that Katie can’t help the feel of her cheeks growing even hotter.

Before she can condemn herself further, however, Katie storms out of the room and across campus, not stopping until she’s back in front of her office computer, pulling up an unfinished project she’d left for dead.

If Lance thinks she’s going to take this sitting down, he’s got another thing coming.

 

.x.X.x.

 

“Huuuuuuuunk,” Lance groans, flopping himself backwards onto his bed. The sounds of the party below drift up the stairs and under his door, beckoning them both down to the festivities, but Lance can’t seem to move from his nest of pillows. He’s too distraught. “I just don’t know what else to do here, man!”

Hunk, god among men, sits himself down on the edge of Lance’s bed and gently grabs his ankle, squeezing in a way that’s meant to be reassuring.

“Did you try… I don’t know. Flirting with her like a normal person?”

“Obviously!” Lance huffs, burying himself further into his comforter to wallow. He can practically feel the heavy bass pounding through the floor from the speakers downstairs. His frat brothers are known for their parties, and hell, he’s planned quite a few of them himself, but even if a part of him would rather be wining and dining the rest of Greek Row, he’s too preoccupied with his current predicament. Who in their right mind would be able to party with a heart so distracted by lovesickness?

“Lance…” Hunk’s voice pulls him back to the situation at hand, not quite as soothing this time. In fact, if Lance didn’t know any better, he’d say it sounds almost chastising. Cautiously, Lance peeks out from his pillows, scanning Hunk’s face. As expected, Hunk is giving him The Look, the one that tells Lance he’s been caught out in a half-truth, not quite lying but definitely not being as honest as necessary. And as years of The Look has conditioned him to do, Lance just groans again, long and over dramatic, before admitting defeat.

“Fine. I published the article to get her attention.”

“Lance!” Hunk gasps, even going so far as to swat at his legs over the comforter. As much as he wishes he could argue, Lance knows what he did was wrong. Well. Not wrong per say. More just competitive. Maybe a little ruthless at best. But it was hardly the way to the girl’s heart and Lance knows it. For all intents and purposes, he’s probably screwed himself. Damaged his chances beyond repair. And yet, he can’t help but whine, doomed to self pity.

“Huuuuuunk… What am I doing wrong? Why isn’t she in love with me yet?”

Hunk just raises an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest. The Look has used Enhanced Chastising. It is super effective.

“I just don’t get why she doesn’t want a piece of this, you know? I’m a catch!”

“Sure you are, buddy,” Hunk sighs, seeming to resign himself to the fact that this is a Let Lance Wallow A Bit time. Bless him. 

“That’s right. Anyone would be happy to receive my affections,” Lance goes on, flopping over onto his back. “Guy, girl, vaguely humanoid alien. Hell, even a not remotely humanoid alien.”

“Is this about that hentai tentacle monster thing?”

“Don’t kinkshame me in my own dorm room, Hunk.”

“It’s _our_ dorm room,” Hunk says matter-of-factly as he crawls over Lance’s legs to sit more fully on the bed, making a face that tells Lance _exactly_ what’s coming next. “And kinshaming _is_ my kink.”

Lance snorts out a laugh, throwing one arm over his eyes as he flails his other in the general direction of Hunk’s chest. “I’m serious, dude. I don’t know how to fix this. It’s like… whenever I’m around her I just act like an idiot. Or a huge bag of dicks. Like my filter just takes a vacation the moment she walks through the door.”

“I’m not seeing how that’s different from how you normally act, but okay,” Hunk slides over until he’s laying down next to Lance in the bed, graciously taking the smack to his stomach that his insult elicits. “Listen, dude. I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, you’ve just gotta-”

“Oh!” Lance shoots up in bed, half of his pillows plopping onto the floor as one flies across the room with his momentum. Suddenly, Lance is straddling Hunk’s lap, both hands on his shoulders as practically shouts, “You’re in robotics lab with her this semester, right? Surely you guys exchange numbers for projects and stuff, don’t you?”

“Oh no,” Hunk shakes his head with a vigor that’s difficult to contain considering the lanky pile of limbs currently trying to shove him deeper into the bed. “Nope. No, no, no. I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.”

“Oh come ooooooon, Hunk!” Lance whines, collapsing bodily into Hunk’s chest. “Do a bro a solid. Be my wing man!”

“After what happened when Nyma didn’t work out? No thank you.”

“That was one time! And she handcuffed me to a stop sign so my complaints were totally valid.” And before Hunk can get more of the argument out, Lance rolls off of Hunk and to the edge of the bed, sitting up even if his head still hangs a bit heavily between his shoulders. “Besides. This isn’t like Nyma. This is different.”

For a second, the confession just sits there, floating in the air between them. Then, Hunk shifts, coming to sit at Lance’s side, close enough for Lance to rest his head on Hunk’s shoulder. Which he does.

“You really like her don’t you…?” Hunk asks softly after a moment, not even really seeming to need an answer. Lance can hear it in Hunk’s quiet awe, a surprise Lance can still feel rattling about in his chest every time his heart skips a beat at the thought of her. Regardless, Lance nods, a barely there motion that he knows Hunk can feel.

Another quiet moment, and then Hunks follows the revelation up with a genuinely curious sounding, “Then why do you keep fucking up so badly?”

Lance groans, a loud, overdramatic sound that anyone having sex on the second floor almost definitely heard, and then wrenches himself to his feet. “I don’t know that, Hunk,” he says, tearing off his shirt and grabbing a new one from his closet, one that’s neon pink with the words “I WANT TO K I _ _ YOU” on the front and a succinct, “Options May Vary” on the back. “But do you know what I _do_ know?”

“That your shirt makes you look like a tool?” Hunk smirks, carefully dodging the pillow that Lance launches at his head.

“Um, rude much?” Lance huffs, taking a floral snapback off of his hat wrack and turning it backwards; the perfect angle to show off how great his hair looks today. “And no, what I _do_ know is that I’m about to go downstairs and get my drink on before Rolo kills all the good jello shots you made last night.”

“Please don’t eat ten of them in a row this time...” Hunk pleads as they head downstairs. “I know the strawberry technically counts as food, but you were singing show tunes like, five minutes later. By yourself. I don’t know if I can handle the second hand embarrassment again.”

“No promises,” Lance shrugs. “Gotta take my blackout benefits where I can. And besides, it’s your fault for making them taste like they have no alcohol in them when they’re basically a shot and a half each.”

“I was following a recipe I found online! Blame them!”

“Okay, then I give you full permission to send a video of me singing show tunes to the original creator as recompense.”

“Done and done.”

It doesn’t take long for Lance to get a drink in hand and three jello shots down, much to Hunk’s dismay. But once that’s taken care of, Lance starts to do what he does best.

Become the life of the party.

He always forgets just how much of an Extrovert he is until he’s surrounded by people. Friends, frat brothers, strangers, it doesn’t matter. The more energy the room is pumping with, the more he feels. He can have a conversation with anyone, dance with anyone, make friends with anyone, flirt with anyone. It’s something he’s always relied upon as his most viable skill. Lance McClain is a people person through and through.

Which is why it’s so disheartening that his skills have somehow been thwarted by the only person he genuinely wants to woo.

But nope. No. None of that. Not when he’s currently riding a bit of a buzz and has just caught the eye of one of the sisters from Sigma Alpha Iota. She gives him a smile and then giggles at something her friend whispers in her ear, and it’s so adorable Lance decides then an there to latch on to the distraction with vigor. He may have ruined his chances with Katie Holt, but maybe little miss SAI will be a nice balm for his wounded pride.

He gets about halfway towards her before someone rams into his shoulder, rum punch sloshing out of his solo cup and onto the floor, just narrowly missing his freshly changed shirt.

“What the fuck?” Lance whirls around, catching sight of a mop of black hair and an awkwardly hunched frame. Lance rolls his eyes, grabbing at a shoulder and whirling the guy around. “That’s a party foul, Mullet,” he starts to say. That is, until he realizes the awkward posture is because Keith is literally hunched over a ginormous LSAT prep guide. “Seriously, dude. It’s a party. I know you’re in permanent exam mode over there in pre-law, but live a little.”

Keith just continues to stare at him, the bags under his eyes making his unimpressed look seem even more pronounced. Then, without skipping a beat, he grabs a shot off of one of the trays next to the speakers and downs it.

“There. Happy?” Keith says, promptly returning his face into his prep guide. Lance can’t help but laugh. The guy’s a loner and kinda socially awkward, but he has to admit, there’s something about him he can’t help but like. In a competitive, teasing sort of way.

“Alright, alright,” Lance waves him off, still chuckling to himself. “Don’t hurt yourself, Matt Murdock. And next time, if you’d rather be studying, you know you’re not obligated to come to these right?”

Keith doesn’t even bother to turn around, practically too far into the crowd for Lance to hear most of what he says. “-and Katie dragged me here so-”

He does hear that, though. Loud and clear.

With Keith’s words ringing in his ears, the girl from SAI is instantly forgotten and Lance begins searching the crowd for an adorable mess of shaggy brown hair. But whether it’s her height making it difficult or just Lance’s buzz making him less perceptive than normal, he searches for almost thirty minutes to no avail. He even runs into Hunk on his way towards the second floor, who ushers him back down with a firm reprimanding.

“If you see her, you see her,” Hunk scolds. “Don’t be creepy.”

“I wasn’t trying to be!” Lance huffs. “Katie never comes to my parties. I just wanted to thank her.”

“Sure you did,” Hunk rolls his eyes, but he follows it up with a firm arm around Lance’s shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Lets go get you a glass of water.” Lance starts to argue, but when he stumbles a bit on his next step down the stairs, he decides to allow it.

Once the glass of water has been downed, Hunk and he part ways again, the image of Shay giggling with her Delta Zeta sisters almost too much for the poor guy to handle. Lance offers to wingman for him, but Hunk, the insecure fool, decides against it, too consumed by embarrassment to realize how Shay’s eyes follow him all the way out of the living room.

Lance considers wingmaning anyway, but is instantly distracted by the sound of a familiar voice echoing from the kitchen. As if lured by the Pied Piper, Lance follows.

“It’s been written, Allura,” Katie is saying, already mid conversation. When Lance peaks around the corner, he sees that they’re the only two in the room. Even so, they keep their voices low, secretive. “All I have to do is publish it.”

Allura runs a hand down her face in exasperation. “You have to realize how irresponsible you’re being right now.”

“No one caught me the first time, and no one will catch me this time. It’ll be fine,” Katie says in a tone so casual one could almost miss the aggressiveness behind it. But Lance is listening very carefully, and as he inches just barely around the corner, he can see the concern on Allura’s face.

“You promised me you would shelve Pidge for good,” she goes on. “Is petty revenge worth more to you than a promise?”

Katie responds with something, but Lance misses it, his mind careening to a halt on that name.

Pidge. Pidge Gunderson. Everyone in the campus journalism community, if not everyone in the university, knows that name. The vigilante journalist whose article, mysteriously published without any administrative consent, managed to shed light on the Dean’s blatant misuse of university funds. It was controversial and poignant and honestly, Lance couldn’t help but admire the guy’s balls.

But no. Not guy apparently. Girl. And not just any girl. If what Lance is hearing is correct, Allura just implied that Katie Holt, girl of his dreams, is none other than Pidge Gunderson, the journalistic Batman of his dreams. Holy shit.

The girls continue to argue, voices just loud enough to hear over the sounds of the party behind them, and maybe it’s the buzz, maybe it’s the years working in investigative journalism permanently ingrained in his psyche, but Lance finds himself reaching for his phone. Despite how damaging this information can be, and despite who exactly it involves, Lance opens up his mic app and presses record.

“I can’t exactly publish this as Katie Holt, now can I?” Katie snaps, but Allura isn’t having it.

“I thought you weren’t going to publish it at all!”

“Well, that was before he stole my article.”

“So your way of getting back at him is to offer the school board another opportunity to pin you to the Gunderson article? Ingenious.”

“It’s been months,” Katie groans, her eye roll prominent enough that Lance will probably be able to hear it on the recording later. “No one will be able to connect Pidge Gunderson to me and you know it.”

“But why take the risk?” Allura tries, sounding more and more exasperated, her worry almost palpable. “If you’re caught this time, it could mean being permanently removed from the paper. It could mean expulsion.”

“ _If_ I’m caught, which I won’t be.”

“Katie,” Allura practically growls. “You’re being ridiculous. Reestablishing a connection between you and Pidge Gunderson is a foolish mistake and a possibly incriminating venture.”

Lance has to hold himself back from fist pumping the air, enough information recorded to make the claim irrefutable. But before he can stop the recording, Allura keeps talking, Lance’s thumb hovering over the stop button in shock.

“Just because you have a crush on this boy doesn’t mean you should be putting your career and your education at risk!”

“What?” Katie squeaks, perfectly mimicking what Lance’s brain is thinking. “Lance? I don’t-! What are you even-? Allura, that’s not-! I don’t have a _crush_ on _Lance_ , are you insane?”

“I think thou doth protest too much,” Allura frowns, hands on her hips. What would normally be a joke drops heavy and implicating between them. “But whether or not you admit your infatuation with him, publishing another Gunderson article is only going to make matters worse.”

“Look,” Katie sighs, face scrunching up adorably. “Just because he’s pretty and a halfway decent writer doesn’t mean I _like_ him or something! And even if I did, he brought this on himself.”

As much Lance wants desperately to know what she means by that, he figures he’s tempted fate for long enough. So after scurrying away from the kitchen as silently as possible, Lance stops the recording and takes a seat on the stairs. It’s only a couple of minutes of audio, but it feels like he’s holding a bar of gold. Or a stick of dynamite, maybe. He could light it and watch it explode, or put it away and pretend he doesn’t have an item of pure destructive potential sitting in his archives.

Or. Or maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

Maybe it’s an opportunity.

Lance absently runs his thumb beneath the frozen track of white sound waves, mind whirring with countless possibilities. Bit by bit, a plan begins to form.

Later, he’ll blame the buzz for the probably ridiculous, definitely assholish idea. But Lance has never been one to deny himself when a goal has been laid out before him. Especially when that goal involves Katie Holt.

 

.x.X.x.

 

It’s hard to focus on her work when Katie knows that her current Gunderson article is sitting finished in an unmarked folder on her desktop. All she wants to do is edit it, hack into the department’s mainframe, and slip it onto a page that will go unseen until publishing. Just be done with it. But she can’t do any of that in daylight hours. And since Lance stole her original article, that means she has to come up with an entirely new topic for this week’s paper. 

If Pidge Gunderson publishes something this week and Katie Holt doesn’t, she might as well wear a giant neon sign proclaiming herself the author.

So that means work. And work means focusing. Which she’s having a particularly hard time doing. Stupid Lance and his stupid distracting-

“Well someone’s thinking particularly hard this morning,” a painfully familiar voice wrenches her out of her thoughts with a start. As if summoned, Lance is suddenly before her, leaning against her desk like it belongs to him. “Something on your mind, Miss Holt?” Katie straightens in her chair, eyes widening just a fraction before narrowing. Unfortunately, the fact that she’d been unintentionally thinking about _him_ means she doesn’t escape the slight blush that rises to her cheeks. And if Lance’s broadening grin is any indication, it doesn’t escape him either. 

Part out of spite, and part to simply redirect her focus, Katie turns back to her computer, jumping into her work with renewed vigor. “Could you do me a favor and bother literally anybody else? I have a new article to finish before midnight thanks to you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but this is something only you can do for me,” Lance replies, transitioning from simply leaning to actually sitting on her desk. Katie pretends not to notice, continuing to write, but she can feel the tension rising up her spine and into her shoulders.

“Oh really?” She huffs out, clicking out of her word document and opening up Google for research. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m here to ask you out on a date.”

The word she’d been typing into the search bar becomes a nonsensical cluster of letters, Katie’s fingers fumbling over themselves in surprise. Slowly, she pulls her hands away from the keyboard and wills her wide set eyes to shift from computer screen to Lance’s face. Surely he must be joking. Right? Why wouldn’t he be? He couldn’t possibly-

But no. Despite the smirk, despite the casual posture, his eyes are purely suggestive, no hint of a joke or a tease. Despite the complete and utter impossibility of it all, he’s serious.

“The fuck?!” Katie practically screeches, shooting up and out of her chair so quickly that it rolls with a clatter back into the desk six feet behind her. Lance, the bastard, just laughs.

“Not what you expected?”

“What the fuck are you even-? Why would I ever-?” Katie tries to formulate a proper argument, but her brain is moving too quickly, going into overdrive, powering down in self defense. Lance. Asking her out. On a date. Error 404. Does not compute.

“I take it that’s a no then?” Lance cuts into her spiraling, smirk still firmly set in place.

Katie’s brain to mouth filter shuts off. “No, what?”

“So it’s a yes?”

“Wait, no. I- No! I meant no! What the fuck is going on?” Katie raises her glasses to the top of her head and runs a hand over her face. “What could have _possibly_ given you the idea that I’d want to go out on a date… With you?”

For a couple of seconds, Lance says nothing, simply watching her panic with increased amusement. Then, he shrugs, crossing his legs and leaning back a bit on her desk. 

“I hear you think I’m pretty.”

If it’s possible for her brain to short circuit any more, it does in that moment. Her glasses fall from her head back down to her nose. “Excuse me?”

“And, if I’m remembering correctly, a halfway decent writer?” He goes on, tapping his chin with his index finger. “Which, coming from you, I’m inclined to take as a compliment.”

“What are you-?” Katie starts to say, but she’s interrupted by the sound of her own voice, distant yet clear, as it echoes from Lance’s phone.

_“Just because he’s pretty and a halfway decent writer doesn’t mean I like him or something!”_

Lance presses pause and Katie’s jaw drops. 

“You…” She starts to say, looking frantically from Lance’s smug face to the phone and back. “You were-” But before that thought can properly form, another more pressing realization bursts forth, front and center. Katie scowls, hands clenching into tight fists at her sides. “What else did you hear?”

“Oh!” Lance grins even wider, practically beaming. “You mean this?” With a swipe of his finger, he scrolls back through the recording and hits play. This time, it’s Allura’s voice that echoes from the speaker first.

_“-opportunity to pin you to the Gunderson article? Ingenious.”_

_“It’s been months No one will be able to connect Pidge Gunderson to me and you know it.”_

_“But why take-?”_

Lance presses pause again, pocketing the phone. Katie can’t breathe, not sure whether to be furious or terrified. Her future career, academic and beyond, has just slipped between the folds of Lance’s worn, jeans pocket. She’s never been more grateful than in that moment that the department is usually empty this early in the morning.

“So about that date.”

The balance between terrified and furious tips instantly in favor of the latter.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Katie seethes. “Extortion, Lance? Really? This is low even for you.”

“Hey,” Lance shrugs, finally jumping down off of her desk. “Considering how well my attempts to collaborate with you went, I figured I’d take what I could get.”

“And it never crossed your mind to, I don’t know, just ask me like a normal person?”

“Would you have said yes?” 

“Of course not!” Katie replies automatically, biting her tongue a second too late. Lance chuckles knowingly.

“Then it’s a moot point,” he says, stretching an arm over his head. “So here’s my proposal. You go out on a date with me. Just one, of my choosing. And at the end of it, I’ll delete the recording.”

Katie frowns, still having a hard time believing what’s happening. “And if I refuse?”

This time, Lance’s grin morphs into something almost sinister. “Then The Paladin will be running a very interesting article tomorrow, won’t it?”

For the first time in Katie’s life, her mind refuses to function. “This is… You…” 

“So? What do you say, Katie Holt? Allow me to take you out on the best date of your life?”

For a long moment, Katie has no idea what to say. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about Lance in a… less than platonic way before. But for him to ask her out like this? It’s conniving and ruthless. And while the journalistic part of her can’t help but admire the tenacity, it just feels like a low blow.

Still, she can’t deny that he’s got her cornered. So, after a breath and a stern up and down look, Katie crosses her arms over her chest.

“One date.”

“One date,” Lance repeats. 

“You delete the recording _in front of me_ the second it’s over.”

“Fair enough.”

“And don’t expect me to have a good time.”

“I make no promises,” He winks, and Katie resigns herself to her fate.

Which is how she winds up standing out in front of the library the next afternoon, waiting for a certain blackmailing douchebag to come pick her up. He’d refused to tell her where he was taking her or what the date would entail, so Katie just threw on a tank top and shorts. Like hell if she was dressing up for him. Even if she did cycle through three tanks before deciding on the black one with the words Lazy Journalism Is Censorship written across the chest.

“You ready for an adventure, pretty lady?” Lance suddenly appears at her side, sauntering up to her from the path that leads off campus. He’s wearing a pair of white shorts and a light pink polo shirt, a floral snapback sitting backwards on top of his head. He should look like a Yacht Club Fuckboi, but instead he just looks handsome. Katie ignores the way that thought makes her heart stutter.

“Does that imply that I have a choice?” Katie spits back instead. Lance just continues to smirk, seemingly unfazed.

“You’ve always had a choice, I’ve just provided all the details necessary to make the smartest decision.”

With a groan she does absolutely nothing to smother, Katie walks right past him towards the campus exit. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Like an enthusiastic puppy, Lance practically skips up to her, his stride easily keeping him a few steps ahead. “App says the uber should be arriving in two minutes.”

“Any chance I get insider info on where you’ll be burying my body after you’re done murdering me?”

Lance’s backwards stroll falters, his face scrunching up for just a second before smoothing out into his usual cockiness. “Now, now. You know any good serial killer doesn’t reveal his plans to his victims until _after_ he’s secured their fate.”

“Oh good,” Katie deadpans. “Something to look forward to.”

As if on cue, the uber chooses that moment to pull up, Lance opening the door for her like a proper gentlemen and ushering her inside. As she settles in, buckles up, she considers asking again, with less snark this time, but Lance is pointedly looking away from her, eyes scanning the world outside the stranger’s car window. With his attention elsewhere, Katie can actually look at him, admire him, really, if she’s being honest with herself. She hadn’t been lying to Allura when she said she was attracted to him. She’s been nursing a reluctant crush since their first head to head over a forced near-collaboration of their two papers. Katie had managed to wiggle out of the arrangement, but Lance had never stopped pestering her about it, even to this day.

In all honesty, though, Lance is a great writer. He’s got a way with words that she’s rarely seen used so wittily. Not to mention a unique voice and an impressive display of stubbornness when it comes to investigative journalism, her current predicament notwithstanding. Sure, if he’d asked her out on a regular date, she would have panicked, said no, and maybe he knows that, assumed that. That doesn’t mean she can’t be bitter about this one though.

So, crossing her arms over her chest, Katie buries herself as far into the seat as she can and keeps quiet the whole way. Lance glances over at her once, but doesn’t break the silence either.

It takes about twenty minutes for them to arrive at their location, a rather large, independent bookstore in the middle of downtown. As if their arrival has awoken him from some sort of stupor, Lance’s attitude does a one-eighty, a grin stretching across his face as he jumps from the car and loops around to her side.

“Your highness,” he says, opening up her door and bending low at the waist. Katie blinks at him, only mildly surprised by the display, and gets out of the car without a word. This time, Lance seems a bit disappointed at her silence, though even that fades quickly as he waves off the uber and begins to lead her inside.

Which is when Katie can’t seem to keep her curiosity under wraps anymore.

“What are we doing here, Lance?” She asks, exasperation evident in her voice. Thankfully, if not surprisingly, Lance answers this time, even if it’s still lacking in the necessary details.

“There’s someone signing here today that I thought you might want to meet. So I figured our date could start here.”

Before Katie can probe Lance for more information, included but not limited to the implication that this “date” comes in multiple parts, she catches sight of a sign in the bookstore window. It’s nothing more than a professional photo of a ginger man with a large mustache, but Katie recognizes him instantly.

“He’s here?” Katie gasps, turning towards Lance and grabbing his upper arms, wrenching him down and closer to her line of sight. “He doesn’t… He never does signings. He barely even comes to the US anymore! How did you-? How?!”

“I know a guy who knows a guy,” Lance just shrugs, casually removing himself from Katie’s grip. “Now you coming in or what?”

Katie rushes inside, desperate to see for herself whether or not Lance is pulling her chain. The moment she’s far enough into the bookstore, however, the crowd of people becomes evident. Katie inches her way through the swarm, keeping an eye out for ginger hair, and eventually finds herself amidst a group of people. Despite the variety of attendees, it’s obvious that everyone is here for one reason, be it from their shirts, their books, their conversation. And when the man in question comes into focus amidst the gathering, Katie falls back, momentarily overwhelmed.

“Here.”

Lance is suddenly at her side, pushing a book into her chest. Tentative and more than a little confused, Katie grabs it, raising the cover up to her line of sight.

 _Coran Coran the Gorgeous Man_ , is written in elegant script along the top of the book cover, followed by a subtitle reading, _The Tales and Trials of My Time as an Investigative Journalist_.

“I figured you’d need something for him to sign.”

Katie drags her eyes from the book back to Lance’s face, not quite sure what expression she’s embodying at the moment. She’s stunned, really. Floored. Part of her wants to be giddy and thankful and possibly even a little grateful, but she knows Lance. And the Lance she’s familiar with doesn’t just do something for nothing. Right?

“Thanks,” Katie eventually resigns herself to acceptance, clutching the book to her chest and eyeing Lance warily. The suspicion doesn’t go unnoticed, but despite the recognition in his eyes, he only continues to grin knowingly at her, motioning for her to step in line. Katie does as told, and after a good twenty or so minutes of awkward silence, she’s finally at the front. She can finally see him, giant ginger-stache and all.

And suddenly she realizes she has no idea what to say.

She’s been following Coran’s work since before she could read, listening to her father’s voice paint a picture of his travels, his escapades, his incredible journalistic integrity. He was by far one of the driving forces in her motivation for studying journalism, and now that he’s barely two feet away, for the first time in her life, she’s at a loss for words.

She can’t bring herself to step forward any further, even after the only other person in front of her steps out of line. Coran’s eyes land on her and his smile softens and she doesn’t know what to say, can’t think of anything to say. 

“Hey, Coran!” Lance is suddenly stepping past her, grabbing the man’s attention. Coran’s eyes widen in pleasant surprise, shining brightly.

“Lance, my boy!”

Wait. What?

Her brain sputters, dies, blue screen of death. But despite the impossibility, her eyes still take in the sight all the same, following Lance as he not only walks behind the booth and up to Coran, but hugs him.

“How was Zimbabwe?” Lance asks once they pull apart from the embrace, his tone aggravatingly familiar. Coran laughs, loud and boisterous.

“A thrilling experience wrought with peril, to be sure. But nothing I couldn’t handle!” Coran laughs again, wiping away a nonexistent tear from his eye. “Glad to be back in the states, though. I can’t even begin to tell you how much Dancing with the Stars I have to catch up on.”

“I already know who you’re gonna root for this season,” Lance waggles his eyebrows and Coran quickly elbows him in the side.

“Keep your spoilers to yourself!” 

As they continue to chat, laughing amongst themselves, Katie’s brain finally reboots, her feet bringing her a step forward, then another. Lance notices and smiles, reaching out to lure her around the edge of the booth. When she’s close enough, his hand wraps loosely around her upper arm, warm and sturdy.

“Coran, this is Katie Holt,” Lance says, matter-of-fact, and the sound of her name in his voice, so casual and friendly, does something weird to her heart. “She’s one of the best journalists I’ve ever met, pretty much saved our campus newspaper.”

If she thought her heart was acting strange before, that all but stops it outright.

Still, she’s not going to let Lance show her up. So, putting on her best game face, she reaches out for a handshake, one that Coran returns happily.

“It’s incredible to meet you,” she says, wincing internally at the slight hint of “fangirl” in her voice. She tries to dial it back, but now that she’s finally talking to him, it’s hard to stop the word vomit. “You’re actually the one who got me into journalism in the first place. I mean, I ultimately decided on my own, but my dad used to read me your articles when I was little, and I did a thesis on your work in Singapore when I was in high school, and I just sort of followed you for years, you know? Not in a stalker kind of way, just like occupationally? It was really inspiring what you tried to do in North Korea, and I guess I just…” The rambling gives way for a quick breath, and she steels herself. “Thank you for being the inspiration for my future career.”

It takes Coran placing his other hand atop hers for Katie to realize she never pulled out of the handshake. Despite the heat that rises to her cheeks at the thought, Coran only continues to hold fast, smiling kindly at her.

“It’s my immense pleasure, Miss Holt,” he says, squeezing her hand once more before pulling away. “And if what Lance here says is true, I’m sure it’s quite a career you’ve got ahead of you to boot!”

As if just now realizing his still lingering presence, Katie glances to her side, catching Lance’s eye. His gaze shifts down to the book in her arm and back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. She wastes no time after that, chatting as casually as she can while Coran signs her book, making it out to _Journalism’s Rising Star._

Unfortunately, they’ve already taken up too much of his time, the rest of the line getting noticeably annoyed. Before they leave, however, Coran promises to invite Lance and his girlfriend out for dinner before his flight to Belgium. It takes Katie all the way back out to the parking lot before she realizes he’d been talking about her.

It seems like an honest mistake, so she doesn’t comment on it, but if her heart keeps stuttering like this, she’s going to have to get an EKG by the night’s end.

As they wait for their next uber, Katie decides on a safer topic. “You only brought me here so you could name drop, didn’t you?” Frustratingly—especially considering how nice it sounds—Lance just laughs.

“I had an internship with him in high school,” Lance eventually explains. “My older brother worked with him on a piece in Cuba and hooked me up. Now, whenever he’s in the area, he makes me promise to come and see him. I figured it would be a good opportunity for you guys to meet.”

She wants to tease him about not denying the name drop. She wants to roll her eyes at him and say something snarky. She wants to argue that she is very much _not_ his girlfriend.

But instead, all she can seem to manage, is a soft and genuine, “Thanks, Lance.”

Something in the tone of her voice must surprise him, his eyes widening a fraction before they settle into something warm and possibly even fond. His cheeks flush a soft, pretty pink as he ruffles her hair. “Any time, shorty.”

She smacks his hand away, mumbles something about not being that short, but the malice behind it is lost to the blush steadily spreading across her own cheeks.

Their uber arrives a couple of minutes later, and they pile in.

“So is this it, then?” Katie asks as she buckles her seatbelt. “Am I free?”

Again, that strange look crosses Lance’s face, but it’s replaced by cockiness even more swiftly than last time. “Fraid not, kid. This date comes with a part two.”

 _I didn’t sign up for that_ , Katie considers, her arms already crossed over her chest in indignation. _This blackmail can only go so far_ , is another, though that would require analyzing the worth of his info over the weight of her motivation. Hell, if she simmers with it enough, she can practically already hear herself saying, _You can take your Part Two and shove it up your-_

But for some reason Katie decides against all of these, letting out a soft exhale as she turns towards the window. “So where to then?” she asks instead.

The following bout of silence is almost expected, her gaze only just flickering over when he doesn’t respond as quickly as usual. Before he has a chance to school his features into something less revealing, Katie sees the wide set to his eyes, the blatant surprise pulling his lips just slightly apart. Almost as if he hadn’t expected her to agree so easily.

“There’s a mixer going on downtown at the Regency,” Lance eventually says, though it feels as though he’s only trying to break the silence. “A Greek Row event that we throw every year before midterms. Thought you’d like to let loose a bit, maybe hit the dance floor with me.”

“So what, it’s like a glorified prom?” Katie rolls her eyes, but even she can hear a lack of venom in her tone. Lance just shrugs, grinning.

“The theme is A Night Beneath The Stars.”

Katie can’t help the little bubble of laughter that escape her. “Are you fucking serious?”

Lance laughs with her. “Not really, but I was on the decoration committee. So that’s what I’ve been calling it.”

“Of course,” Katie sniffs, still giggling softly despite herself. Then, a thought dawns on her, her gaze falling into her lap. Her shorts are frayed at the edges, her tank top a good five or six years old now. “I’m not exactly dressed for a mixer though.”

Without hesitation, Lance says, “You’re perfect.”

Stunned, Katie turns her head in Lance’s direction. For a brief moment, as they lock eyes, he looks completely serious. Genuine. Then he turns towards the window again, shoulders tense. Still, his words are clear and said with intent.

“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. You always look perfect.”

Katie’s pretty sure she’s never felt heat rise to her face so quickly. She’s silently relieved he’s still looking away from her, because he’d certainly have ample to say if he saw the bright blush now spreading across her cheeks.

A few short minutes later and they’re climbing out of the uber and walking up the stairs to the Regency, an expensive hotel in the heart of downtown. The sun has already started making it’s way below the west side buildings, and in response, the Regency stands illuminated in the dusk lighting. It’s a lavish, posh sight that Katie has only ever driven past once or twice, but she can’t deny how beautiful the building is.

The inside is even more so. The décor is stunning and the staff warm and welcoming. They nod to the two of them as they pass, possibly recognizing Lance from his time decorating the ballroom. A ballroom which already seems to be buzzing with energy, music filtering into the hall as they approach.

“Ready to spend a night dancing beneath the stars with me?” Lance winks, hand on the handle of the large double doors. Katie scoffs, willing her heart to stop being so easily manipulated.

“Fat chance getting me onto that dance floor, McClain.”

Lance seems frustratingly unfazed, an undeniable confidence in his eyes as he pushes open the door. “We’ll see about that, Holt.”

The ballroom is absolutely stunning. 

Katie can instantly see what Lance was getting at. The ceiling is littered with different lengths and sizes of hanging, glow-in-the-dark stars, a cluster of them gathered in the center of the room like a starry chandelier. Directly to Katie’s right there’s even a curtained mural of Van Gogh’s Starry Night acting as an accent wall. The music is energetic but the atmosphere is warm and inviting, the lights dim and flickering in blues and purples.

“Well?” Lance’s voice is suddenly at her ear, his breath fanning warm over her cheek. “What do you think?”

Katie has to swallow, heart clogging her throat, before she can reply. “It’s alright, I guess,” she eventually manages, but by the sound of his soft chuckle, she can tell he doesn’t buy it. The room turned out beautiful and he knows it.

“Come on,” Lance wraps an arm around her shoulders and begins ushering her towards a table to the left of the dance floor. “Let’s get you set up.”

“Set up?” Katie tries to ask, but Lance is already motioning towards the table. Spread across the dark blue, velvet table cloth are hundreds of different sized stickers, all shaped like stars and in a literal rainbow of color options. After scanning the selection, Katie reaches out and picks up a metallic, green star the size of her thumbnail.

“Good choice,” Lance says, holding a hand out in front of her without explanation. “Want me to do it?”

“Do what?” She asks, but the moment she looks up at Lance’s face, she understands. He stares back at her with a smile, two blue stars decorating his cheeks. In fact, now that she realizes, everyone here has different colored stars on their faces, arms, upper thighs, midriffs. 

In her distraction, Lance pulls the star out of her hand and pulls the backing off, tossing it to the table. Then, he holds his hand up towards her face and waits.

“Is this okay?” He asks, a hesitance in his voice that she’s not used to hearing. Without really meaning to, she finds herself nodding, and Lance’s answering smile is almost blinding. Yup. Definitely gonna need that EKG.

Lance scans her face for a moment before deciding on the center of her forehead. She blinks, wrinkling her brow as she looks up, the feel of the sticker resisting the pull of her skin. All of a sudden, Lance’s hand is back, placing two more small stars at the corner of her eyes. Then one on each shoulder, one below her clavicle. So, before she can convince herself not to, Katie starts gathering stickers of her own, chuckling a little despite herself as she starts covering Lance’s arms in little blue and purple stars.

Lance laughs with her, and regardless of how much she loathes to admit it, she’s actually kind of having fun. Maybe. 

After littering each other in more stickers, Lance grabs Katie’s hand and begins pulling her towards the dance floor. She pulls back against his grip, but he’s persistent, and eventually she finds herself amongst the swarm of rhythmically moving bodies. 

The song isn’t one she’s familiar with, but most of her tastes stray towards alternative rock and Daft Punk, so she’s not surprised. It sounds like some kind of remixed EDM, the beat quick enough to bounce to. Lance, however, comes in closer, right up into her personal space, and starts moving. He’s all fluid motion and controlled body rolls, his hands occasionally brushing her arms, her waist. It’s mesmerizing to watch, and almost involuntarily, she finds herself moving with him.

Not for the first time, Katie can’t deny her attraction to the guy. But right here, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead catching the blue flash of dance lights, his eyes practically glittering with excitement and his smile directed at her, she’s never found him more beautiful. It’s definitely bad for her health, her chest tightening every time he brushes against her, her stomach filling with butterflies when he loops both hands around her waist and all but moves against her. His hands are strong and gentle at the same time, the heat of his presence nearly overwhelming.

Scratch the butterflies. They’re more like moths, sucked into the bright light that is Lance McClain and slowly burning themselves alive.

She doesn’t know how long they dance, but eventually, all the space between them vanishes, Katie nearly cradled in Lance’s arms every second he’s not twirling her around. It’s exhilarating and exhausting in a good way, and when she ends up needing a break, it’s with no little amount of disappointment in her own lack of stamina. She thinks she could probably dance with Lance like that forever, which is frankly terrifying. And oddly thrilling.

“I told you I could get you on the dance floor,” Lance pants, a flush creeping across his face that makes him seem to glow. It takes way more effort than it should for Katie to jab him in the side with her elbow, and even then, she can’t quite shake the grin from her own face.

“That’s because you distracted me with star stickers,” she says, walking past him and towards the table. She’d lost a few dancing and could probably refresh the one on her forehead. Lance just waves her off, saying something about grabbing them drinks before vanishing into the crowd.

She’s in the process of adding a couple more green stars to her cheeks when she feels a presence behind her, hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. When she turns, half expecting Lance, her stomach drops.

“Katie Holt.” 

Lotor’s voice had become painfully familiar over the months following Pidge Gunderson’s controversial article. He’d been a near constant presence in the editorial department, demanding answers for the blasphemous content that had subsequently gotten his father kicked off the administrative board. Who wrote it, who published it, where they’d gotten their information. He was relentless. Then, for months, he just disappeared. Katie had started assuming he’d dropped out of the grad program entirely.

Apparently not.

“Lotor,” Katie frowns, trying to keep her voice steady and her posture stern. She even crosses her arms over her chest and turns her nose up at him for good measure. “Can I help you?”

“I’ve been doing my own research,” Lotor glares down at her, cutting right to the chase. “And the trail keeps leading me back to you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Katie sighs, rolling her eyes in a way that even she can tell looks a tad overdramatic. “Can you please ruin somebody else’s night? I’m kind of on a date.”

She says it to make him uncomfortable, but it has no effect other than making her own heart flip at the sound. That’s right. She’s on a date. A date that Lotor is effectively ruining, because he seems to have no desire to follow her request. In fact, he even steps closer, perpetually caging her between him and the table.

“You know exactly what this is about,” Lotor sniffs, expression icy. “All my leads tell me that Katie Holt and Pidge Gunderson? One and the same.”

Katie’s blood runs cold.

“Seriously?” Katie scoffs, relieved when her voice doesn’t crack or shake. For someone like Lotor, that would be tantamount to a confession. “You know you sound fucking ridiculous, right?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Holt,” Lotor hisses out, pushing a finger hard into her sternum. She can’t help but choke on her next words, wincing at the pain before feeling her eyes widen. “You’re responsible for the death of my father’s career. And that is something I refuse to take sitting down.”

“Look, I’m really not who you think I-”

“Hey, Lo-turd!” Lance’s insult cuts through the boisterous music and clamor of voices, abrupt and loud enough to have not just Lotor and Katie, but a good portion of the crowd jerking in his direction. He’s rushing towards the two of them with a look of murderous intent, red solo cups sloshing liquid onto the floor in his haste.

“Who is this?” Lotor finally pulls away from her, expression and voice equally unimpressed. “Your date?”

“You bet your ass,” Lance huffs before the words really have a chance to register, walking between them to put the drinks on the table. “Now kindly stop being a creep and step away from the lady.”

“This is none of your business, frat boy,” Lotor says at the same time that Katie hears herself mumble, “Lance, I can take care of myself.” However, Lance chooses to ignore Lotor in favor of turning more completely towards Katie instead.

“But you shouldn’t have to,” he says, face disarmingly serious. It catches Katie off guard, the expression so unlike his normal cockiness, his suave and charming persona. For the umpteenth time this evening, she feels herself fall just a little bit harder.

“You’re sticking your nose into something you don’t understand,” Lotor clicks his teeth, eyeing Lance up and down. To his defense, Lance doesn’t waver, still managing to appear intimidating despite the slight height difference.

“Oh, I heard enough,” Lance growls right back. “And if she says she’s not Pidge Gunderson, than she’s not. That’s that. Full stop.”

“She’s lying.”

“And what proof do you have, dude? It’s been fucking _months_. Just let it go.”

“Lance-” Katie tries, reaching out for his arm, but Lance is smirking now, walking right up into Lotor’s personal space.

“Your dad fucked up, he’s paying for it, and trying to pin the blame on Katie isn’t going to change that.” He leans in even further, practically forehead to forehead with Lotor now. “You’ve got the wrong girl. Give up already.”

And then, as if in slow motion, three things happen almost simultaneously.

Lance grabs his drink from the table behind them and pours it on Lotor’s head. Lotor snaps and punches Lance square across the jaw. The music stops.

As if the slow motion has suddenly sped back up by 200%, the crowd begins to circle in curiosity, murmurs rippling through them as security begins rushing towards the scene. Katie halfheartedly notices that one of the men on staff is Shiro, but she’s a bit distracted by the need to kneel at Lance’s side, to ask him what the hell he was thinking. 

To marvel at the fact that even with a split lip, he hasn’t stopped smirking.

 

.x.X.x.

 

“You knew Shiro was running security?” Katie asks, handing Lance a fresh ice pack from the first aid kit the hotel staff had given them. The sting is brief as he applies the pack to his face, but it’s enough to leave him wincing in pain. As if in sympathy, he notices Katie wince right along with him. It’s enough to make him crack a smirk, despite the way the motion pulls at his lip.

“I saw Keith playing wallflower earlier and assumed that meant Shiro would be around,” Lance shrugs. “When Lotor started crowding you, I figured it would be a good chance to see Shiro wrestle an asshole to the floor.”

“Was it everything you ever dreamed?” Katie chuckles softly, something he’s starting to realize is his new favorite sound. Lance swallows down his own laugh so he can hear hers unmarred a bit longer.

“And more,” Lance does say after a moment though, remembering in still vivid detail exactly what it looked like to have Shiro restrain a struggling and fuming Lotor, Keith’s face peaking out through the crowd in part surprise, but mostly exasperation.

Speaking of, Lance can just make out the three of them from where Katie and he are sitting on the steps out in front of the Regency. Keith is rambling off something to Shiro with broad gesticulations, something he only does when arguing anything even mildly related to law. Lotor looks as if he’d be doing the same if his hands weren’t currently cuffed behind his back. Shiro just looks exhausted by the whole affaire. But Lance had been let off the hook with barely a slap on the wrist, so he considers it a success.

“Hey, Lance?” Katie whispers suddenly, dragging his attention back to where it truly matters. When his eyes catch the expression on her face, his heart clenches. He can already tell that he’s not going to like whatever she has to say. “Why didn’t you just tell Lotor the truth? You knew he was right. You have the proof he needs even. So why?”

And that… Well that hurts.

“Wow. I know I’ve been a dick, but do you really think I’m that heartless?”

“You literally blackmailed me into this date,” she says, but there’s surprisingly little bitterness in it. Lance just sighs, letting his hand and the icepack fall limply back to his lap.

“Fair point.”

For a long moment, they sit in silence, Katie’s converse scraping against the bottom step as she waits for him to break it. So he does it the best way he can think to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Not just for making you think that I would, which I wouldn’t. Ever. But for the whole extortion thing.” It’s a lot to admit, but he knows if he doesn’t do it now, he never will. And she deserves to know. 

“I wasn’t going to do anything with the recording. I wasn’t even going to use it for blackmail, but I got scared last minute when I realized that if I just asked you, like normal and proper and how you deserved, you’d say no. And I just… Really didn’t want you to say no.” He runs a hand over his face, wincing again when his fingers catch his busted lip. “It was really messed up and you have every right to never forgive me for doing something so stupid and manipulative, but I just wanted to know what it would be like, you know? To go out on a date with the girl I’ve had a crush on for ages. Even if it was only the one. So yeah. I’m sorry for the way I handled this. And I’m sorry for forcing you into anything you didn’t want to do. I’ll never do it again, I promise.”

For a second, it looks like Katie struggles with what to say, her face going through a myriad of expressions before settling on one that seems almost thoughtful. So before she can formulate her witty and doubtlessly savage rejection, he decides to give her just a little bit more. 

“As for Lotor, he’s fighting a battle that shouldn’t be won. Pidge Gunderson writes what the rest of us are too afraid to. She brings to light the sort of things that only real, active investigative journalists would think to, and because of that, I think her anonymity is far more important than Lotor’s revenge. So he can fucking suck it.”

A snort of laughter escapes out into the chill of the evening air. Lance decides that, if she’ll let him, he wants to collect and memorize every different type of laugh that girl has.

“Thank you, Lance,” she says suddenly, voice small but warm. She’s got her knees pulled up to her chest, her eyes pointed up at the night sky as if she can see the stars behind the light pollution. “Not for the extortion, I’m still pissed at you for that. But for saying that stuff about Pidge. It really means a lot to me.”

“I meant every word.” He watches her for a while, heart skipping when she catches his eye and a blush lightly dusts her cheeks in response. Then, a thought occurs to him. “What was the article going to be about? The one Allura didn’t want Pidge to publish.”

Katie stays silent on that one for a long time, but eventually she rests her chin to her knees with a sigh, bracing herself it would seem.

“It was a story from right after Dean Zarkon got booted. It involves a couple brothers in your frat… and smuggling.” With a quick breath and a frustrated scowl, she adds, “I wasn’t going to publish it, because I wasn’t sure what the ramification for the other members of the frat would be. I didn’t know if the frat would be disbanded or all of the members expelled or-” Another breath, this one slower, a deep in and out. And then, “I didn’t know what might happen to you, so. I didn’t do anything about it.”

“And then I published that article and pissed you off.”

“Yeah. Still pissed about that too, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The sad thing is, she’s right. There’s no way of knowing what the ramifications of that article would mean for him, or Hunk, or the rest of their frat. He doesn’t know who exactly was involved in the scandal Katie uncovered, but if they’re one of his brothers, then he should have known. What good a brother is he if he can’t prevent the rest of his house from doing something stupid? Or save the rest of his brothers from suffering the consequences of one of their own? 

He may have missed his chance to stop any backlash, but there’s still one thing he can do.

“Publish the article.”

Katie physically starts, one of her heels scraping down the stair and leaving her scrambling to catch herself. “Say what now?”

“The article about the frat. Pidge should still publish it.”

“Lance, no… That’s not why I- I wasn’t going to, not after today. It’s not worth it.”

“Sometimes good journalism requires putting yourself and others at risk. If it’s honest and factual and something that needs to be told, you should tell it.” Lance scratches at the back of his neck, a bit self conscious, but hey. It’s the truth. “I mean, I know I’m not one to talk. My kinda journalism isn’t exactly hard hitting, more lighthearted shit, but you. You might as well already be in the big leagues. And a big leaguer would never let a good story go untold just for the sake of one guy. O-Or you know, one _house_.”

That seems to startle her out of arguing, her eyes widening for a fraction behind her glasses before falling into her own lap. The way her brow puckers in thought is almost frustratingly endearing. For a girl who could destroy his entire frat house, and possibly the entirety of Greek Row if she needed to, she had no right looking so adorable.

“But what about-?” She tries, a last ditch effort, but even Lance can see that it’s already a losing battle. So he just reaches out, ruffles her hair, and smiles.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m sure those of us uninvolved will be fine. And the ones who put us at risk will get what they deserve.”

It takes another bout of long, almost awkward silence before Katie finally nods. “Okay.”

“Good,” Lance keeps smiling, though he lets his hand fall from her head, fingers carding through the soft, slightly mussed strands. It really was a great night, but he recognizes then, that he owes it to her to set her free. “Well, Miss Holt. Looks like your debt’s been paid in full.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “As promised,” he says, opening up the mic app and clicking into the recordings. If his voice sounds a little sad, what can he say? He wouldn’t trade today for anything, even if it meant getting a taste of something he’ll never actually get to have.

“Lance,” Katie’s voice grabs at his attention before he can swipe into the archives on the app. When he looks over at her, she’s already leaning towards him, intent clear in the way her eyes dip down to his mouth, her tongue pokes out to wet her bottom lip. He nearly drops his phone.

Katie Holt kisses like she writes, with attention to detail, a practiced finesse, and a hunger that simmers beneath the surface of each. He latches on to the feel of it like breathing for the first time. He melts beneath her lips, shatters under her tongue. He’s never been very religious, but when she nibbles at his bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth, he swears he sees God. Even with a busted lip making each too hard press sting, it’s absolutely perfect, everything he wanted it to be and more.

All too soon, Katie is pulling away, an absolutely divine flush covering her face. Like him, she’s panting softly, her eyes shining.

“I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“Right.” Okay. Mixed signals.

“Maybe we can try again after date number two.”

“Um. Sure.” Suddenly it clicks, Lance’s heart jumping into his throat. “Wait. I get a date number two?”

In as much of an answer as she seems willing to give, Katie leans back in to place a quick, almost chaste kiss to his lips. When she pulls away, it with a coy hop to her feet. “Thanks for defending my honor in there.”

“No problem,” Lance replies automatically, still a little in shock. By the time she’s walking away, phone already out to presumably to call her own uber, the realization strikes. “Wait! Katie! The recording!” As if to emphasize the point, Lance pulls open the archives on the app, needing her to see him delete it, needing her to know he regrets what he’s done.

But the archives are completely empty, the recording long gone. 

When he searches his settings for info, it turns out the app had been wiped of all content by an outside IP address. He doesn’t know the IP by heart, but he’d put money on it being a computer in the editorial department. The time his phone was wiped? Yesterday night. Before the date.

She wiped his phone, erased the incriminating evidence, and then… went on the date anyway?

By the time Lance jumps to his feet and looks around, Katie is already getting into the uber.

“Hang on!” He shouts at her, rushing down the stairs and to the pick up area. She continues into the car, closing the door, but graciously rolls down a window for him. “You… You deleted the recording? Then why are you here? Why did you go along with-?” He pauses, catching his breath, and Katie just hums, leaning an elbow out of the open window.

“That’s information you can’t unlock until at least date number four.”

Lance’s head shoots up, almost making him dizzy, but it’s with just enough time to catch a glimpse of Katie’s smirk, the blush still spread across her cheeks, before the window closes. Lance watches the uber pull away, utterly reeling.

It takes him nearly ten minutes of standing in the middle of the pick up area like a mindless zombie before he thinks to call an uber of his own. As he waits for it, as it arrives and takes him back to campus, as he walks up to his dorm with what’s no doubt the stupidest grin on his face, he can still feel it. As if she has sunk into his veins, spread herself out beneath his skin, Lance can still feel her lips against his.

Part of him hopes his split lip never heals.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
